Lola Florence, murderer
by sentviaLondonInstitute
Summary: Lola is 13, but the prime and only suspect of a murder. But murder isn't black and white, and it's rather complicated when the criminal is unaware of her crimes. Ah well. Living with Johnlock should straighten her out.
1. Prologue

Why hello there, this is my first published story of fanfiction and the chaoters will be longer, pinky promise, but this is just like those tester pots of paint, just to see if you like it. It will be a OC story, but no OC slash relationships. My OC is asexual. There is cute Johnlock bromances possibly coming up but that's about it.

The girl Anderson was interrogating yawned. He didn't usually do this but Lestrade wanted to keep this undercover, away from the general public, so here he was. And this girl was infuriating him.

_3 hours earlier_

Lestrade knocked on the red door. An elderly woman answered, probably the suspect's grandmother. "Is this the residence of Lola Florence?" Greg said, even though he knew it was.

"Certainly, Mister. Would you like me to fetch her for you?" She had a fragile but husky voice; a smoker, most likely. He nodded.

The woman gestured him in, and he awkwardly acquiesced. She called out the girl's name, and the steps thudded as she bounded down. "Yes?"

The girl looked about eleven, even though her file stated she was thirteen. Her hair was dark brown and fell in waves to just below her shoulders. It was well taken care of and so was her blemishless skin, but her nails were badly bitten, as if out of habit. Her green eyes stared him down. She held out a hand. "Lola Florence, sir. Anything I can help with?"

Lestrade was surprised at her politeness. Not something you would expect from a murderer. "Miss Florence, I am here to arrest you for the murder of Anthony Bates."


	2. Reunions and confusions

Salutations! Here's the first chapter.

Anderson forced on a smile. "Name?"

"I have a name, yes," she stated. "Not a very smart question," she muttered, loud enough for him to hear.

Anderson huffed. "What is your name, girl?"

She sweetly smiled. "Well, you should've specified, then. I'm Lola Florence. I would say it's a pleasure to meet you but frankly, it's not."

This girl, this _Lola_, was infuriating. Quite a smartass, in fact. He instantly held great contempt for her. "I'm going to ask some questions-"

"That's lovely, that."

He sighed. _Just stick to the script, Anderson._ "Why did you murder Anthony Bates?"

Miss Florence scrunched up her nose. "Oh, you're still on about that, are you? It's getting quite boring, and I loathe boredom."

"Well, build a bridge, because you'll be here for a while."

"Then I might as well start off pleading my innocence, right? That's what they do in the movies, anyway."

"I'm sure if you were innocent you would be being a little more respectful-"

"Oh, but this is finally getting _fun_, Anderson."

"My opinion is that you are most certainly guilty, as is the rest of the people involved."

"And you're entitled to your wrong opinion, that's fine," she started, shrugging her shoulders, but it was too much for Anderson. He stormed out.

That girl, that annoying little-

Anderson got halted by Lestrade. "Why aren't you in there?"

He glared. "I can't take it. Why don't you send in the Heaven-sent _Sherlock Holmes _to do it? Since he's just perfect at everything he does."

Greg sighed. "Go home Anderson. I'll call him in."

Lola was still in the room, with the door flung wide open, but she made no move to leave. Eventually a tall man with a blue scarf and lengthy coat strode in and sat down. Something about him was familiar...

"Sherlock?" He seemed to recognise her as well, and grinned.

Sherlock Holmes was her 27th babysitter when she was little. Her mother needed someone tough; Sherlock needed the cold hard cash she was willing to offer. He was the only babysitter that wasn't a simpering mess with a lower IQ than a dead camel, and she was the only unordinary person in his life, so they clicked. She was Sherlock's only friend, and vice versa.

"What are you doing on the wrong side of the table?" Sherlock asked with a smug grin on his face. They had agreed they would become consulting detectives together, but look where that got her.

She chuckled. "They're accusing me of murder, Sherlock." The whole idea was ridiculous to them both, and they burst out in laughter.

Lola was the only one who'd ever seen this side of him. The only time he was himself was around her. He loved her like family; far more than Mycroft.

The giggles subsided. Sherlock put on a mock-serious face. "I suppose we'll just have to crack this case. Together forever, like old times," he cried out in his Elmo voice. It was not something you'd expect from Sherlock, but he really did the best Elmo voice in the country. She choked on her laughter and wiped tears from her eyes.

She saw someone standing in the doorway with an incredulous voice. "Sherlock?" he asked warily. "Are you okay?" The man was short with a psychomatic limp and military-cut hair. He had a friendly face that resembled a hedgehog.

Sherlock stood up and clapped his hands together. "John, this is my oldest friend, more like family, Lola Florence, and Lola, this is Doctor John Watson, my newest friend."

"Ooh, you have some competition now I'm back, John," she joked. He awkwardly smiled, still confused over the ecstatic Sherlock.

Before he could reply, Sherlock butted in. "Well, not if I don't solve this case. Not very much competition in a dead person." Lola raised her eyebrows and supressed a grin. "Well, come along then," and he dragged her by the arm.

John hurriedly followed. They passed Lestrade, who looked outraged. "What are you doing?" he furiously asked the escaping suspect, who was leaving with his only consulting detective and his friend.

"I'm going on an adventure," she called out as she left the building, hopping into a cab.

So, was it good or painful? Please review or else I will viciously murder Sherlock and John in the next chapter. No pressure


End file.
